Waxing Poetic
by TheBlackCatCrossing
Summary: Being the Joker's muse isn't all that it's cracked up to be. A realistic portrayal of the Joker Harley Quinn relationship. Abuse, psychological, sexual situation. Dark Fic. Not for the squeamish or spineless! R/R.


Pairing: Joker and Harley Quinn

Genre: Epistle

Feedback: Please

Author's note: This is my take on the Joker and Harley Quinn relationship.

Warnings: Flames are like grafitti. If you wanna make an impression on me at least be creative.

Written by: J

He thrust harder and harder. Each push more passionate than the last. His low growls resembled that of a lion in heat. He held onto her hips to keep her in place as he was the one in control, not her. Lightning white hands held onto her delicate hips, grabbing them rather than caressing them as she wished…but still it was better than nothing. At least the Joker, an artist in his own right was paying attention to her. She writhed and pushed her head down into the pillow, moaning lowly and letting out an occasional cry as she felt him push into her. Her soft hands held onto the mattress and pillows for support. She held on for dear life as she let the Clown Prince make love to her, if one could even call it that. She could feel even on the back of her thighs the evident heat that emanated from the Caliph of Clown's. His body was hot like you could fry and egg on it, but his love was cold. She yelped like a sick dog as she felt him rock her, feeling her, and touching her.

Jungle green eyes fluttered themselves and glared down at the petite blonde under him. The sound of her cries would make any red blooded male smile in pride. He had her under his spell. Artists would be poetic in calling her moans an angel's cry. Not Joker. To him, Harley was his henchwench. She was below him. She was not recognized as his equal. If anything, he saw her as more than a urinal in which one would release their bodily spasms into. The joke was that she saw it as something significant. What was it with women and their delusions of being the apple of their eye's 'muses'? While it was nice to be appreciated for one's craft, it sickened him to think that she had any significance in his life other than she was a lab rat who fell under his charms and despite the occasional hint of rationalizations that would hit her, she would fall back into that trance. Her ecstatic moans were akin to that of pigs squealing.

That's right, baby. Let reality go and welcome to my wonderland, he thought.

Muse, what a cheap shot that was. Harley, Terri Ammons, Cassandra Hahn, Donna Gugina, they were all just harpies out to live off of HIS fame.

Small beads of sweat which produced themselves as a result of Joker's interaction with her and a broken ventilation system could not be wiped away as both her hands were held down in place. The Prince held onto them tightly. He groaned in deep satisfaction into her as he released an ebb of hot seed into her.

It was their connection, she thought, it was one of those rare times when they would become one. She did not like that he was very…..expressive but it was certainly better than nothing.

She did not finish. She never could with Joker as he would be too selfish to do something as menial as help her. She had to do it manually and by this time, it was to be expected. Immediately, Joker rolled over to his back. He slowly adjusted the light above the bed as he did not want to get blinded. He grabbed a lighter and a cigarette and proceeded to think about his next encounter with the Dark Knight. It was the usual custom during post coitus euphoria. He did not even give Harley a second glance when he felt her curl up to him. Her hand ran up and down the bony stomach of the Clown Prince. It was a flat 

stomach, concave. It was a marvel to see it rise up and down against the sharp ribs that protruded from below that perfectly snow white skin. Without a second thought, Joker placed his hand on his hench gal's shoulder, not as a sign of affection, but rather, because of control.

"You're good," she purred into his ears. She breathed hotly into them.

"I know," the Prince replied.

For the rest of the night, neither of them spoke. It was a delicate dance and she did not want to ruin it. She was just happy that she was lying next to the Mogul of Mountebanks, criminal mastermind and sex god.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Joker was busy in his study, conducting and over going another series of plans in which to distract and terrorize his arch nemesis. He scrapped the idea of gassing kindergarteners because it had been done before and he also crumbled up a piece of yellow notebook paper which had the sordid details of a heist that involved dirty needles at a hospital. His rejected doodles and scribbles festooned the floor by his feet. They were all either too kiddish, too unoriginal or too Riddler. Trying to craft a heist or anything that would get the Rat's attention was akin to that of writing a novel. It was all in the details and there had to be a pattern. He had that down and the Bat would follow suit. There had to be a few surprises thrown in, a gas bomb or two, maybe a dead Robin in there, but that would take extra time. Maybe just give the little bastard a cut in a very important vein. The point was to be memorable like Ahab and the White Whale or when the Emperor realizes that the General he meant to kill was facing him right in the arena.

It was like writing a melody, it was all in the notes and once you got the rhythm you made beautiful music and he was in the mood to hear Sounds of a Bat in Pain.

Harley Quinn appeared by the doorway with a tray of semi warm soup. It had been out for two hours, actually. She did not want to give the Joker his meal as soon as it was out because the last time it happened, she got the wind knocked out of her. She did not want her puddin' that angry, it was all her fault. She had to do it right and too make up for it, she had Ritz crackers which she had Louie the goon steal for them. They were Mistah J's favorite.

"Whacha doin, puddin?" the clown girl mused.

"Doing what you don't, using my brain," Joker snarled. He scribbled harder onto the paper, making the pencil break and created a transparent mark in the two sheets below it.

"I made you lunch," she retorted. She walked up to him.

"I am not hungry," he spat back, still not looking up from the paper.

"But you have to eat, you need to keep up our strength," she added. "Fine, I will set it here. You can have it anytime you want."

"Why do you always feel the need to mommy me, Harl? If you want to change diapers, go steal a runt from one of those orphanages in the East End!" Joker growled. He was growing more and more annoyed with her presence.

"I care about you, that's why," she said simply. She twirled with the bell on her hat.

"If you did then you would leave me alone. Go shove off with the weed or something!" The Clown Prince snapped. By this time he had stopped scribbling and glared at her with those sea green eyes.

"Red is still mad at me because of what happened at Gotham Gardens," Harley stated simply.

"So, you only leech off of people when you can!" Joker hissed at her. "Typical women."

"That's not true, I prepare your guns, your ammo and remembah that time I distracted Ratman so you could get to those babies before ya plotzed the commissioner's wife?"

"A monkey with cerebral palsy could do a better job than you. I am even stumped myself as to why even the Garden Queen of Weeds puts up with you!" The white skinned man said lowly. He tossed the lukewarm soup to the ground and created a mess on the floor which seeped of tomato and garnish.

"Then why do ya take me back-"

"Where the hell did you get such an idea? YOU are the one that always comes back to ME! YOU are the one that comes crawling back to ME after your so called BFF throws you out because of your failure to comprehend her feminist ideals!" Joker crowed. His tone was venomous and accusatory. It was normal for him to switch personalities. One slight tick and he would be a different person, not the one she liked as much as the one who appreciated her when she showed him her best bedroom acrobatics. "Give me a concrete example when I cried and wrote you poetry. I only take you because you are just as useful to me as Kleenex!" Joker trailed off.

Tears threatened to roll down her white cheeks. The thought of comparing her to used tissue paper was too much to bear.

"That's not true, I can do better…." She yelped.

"Gee, how many times have I heard that one? If I wanted to hear that I would have gotten a damn parrot!"

"But we have something unique, Mistah J…" he came closer, trying to seduce him with her feminine whiles. That curvaceous and tight body tingled when she got close to his genius.

"We do Harl. We do, kind of like a dog and its owner. The only difference is that you weren't properly trained!" A sharp stinging sensation was felt on her cheek. By now, it was just like a small prick on the skin.

"Please…stop.." she began slowly. The human side of her cried for acceptance even after so many years. Her other side demanded dog-like obedience and to shut down the emotional centers. She had gotten herself into this. This is what she paid for. With its price, this is what she had become.

"You knew what you were getting into when you slept with me. You think I should modify my behavior towards you, Harl? Now THAT is crazy!" The Joker roared. She began to pick up the remnants of a meal she had hoped would gain him favor. She would rather that he spat in her face. At least then, he would have made contact.

"YOU stay with me because you thrive in that adrenaline rush I gave you during our sessions! It's quit addicting, don't you agree? All that dopamine hitting your brain and you suspended in reality because all your inhibitions are gone! YOU stay with me because it's like fucking a rock star! You get off on being , admit it. Finally, you stay with me because you don't have anywhere else to go and because I am the only one that can make you come ten times 'til Tuesday!" He growled. His body seethed in deep hate. He put her on a Petri dish and studied her, he knew her weak spots. He put her in the spotlight and she could not retort for her secrets were out in the open. Deep secrets that festered in the recesses of her brain. Private, primal bit of information that she had sought to hide in the dirty corners of her mind. She was in love. She was addicted.

"Clean up this mess or get the Hell out of my sight, I won't have tag alongs or stow aways on my ship! Even Captain Joker demands a pristine crew!" He cackled. He went back to the bedroom to collect more stationary. She used this alone time to recollect her thoughts. She made that choice. SHE was the stupid one for chasing a fantasy. She was the one at fault. She. Her choice.

All women are groupies-Mick Jagger, The Rolling Stones

_I wrote this as a critique of the Joker Harley Quinn relationship and its over idealization. If you don't like it take a hike. I wanted to portray a more realistic take on their so called relationship and I have yet to see a plausible one. Joker is always written with this 'creepy old man pedophile' feel to him that for some reason the fangirls get so turned on by and Harley Quinn is basically reduced to a disgusting Mary Sue in which said fanatics use her as a prop for their own rape fetishes. There, I said it. Yes, this will ruffle a few feathers, but I was not put on this Earth to conform. I wanted to burst that fantasy bubble and give a realistic take on the characters. People can keep their fannish needs, but that still doesn't mean that some of us will tolerate it. Don't confuse "complexity" with excuses and delusions. If you were looking for crack, look at the various pieces of clown porn. This is not meant to give into adolescent hormones which for one reason or another to some people qualifies as 'high art'. Apparently, there are fruit loops out there who think that just because you get slapped around by your pyschotic boyfriend and that it equals 'empowerment'. While I will say that people are entitled to their colorful opinions (which I do like listening to sometimes), there is a whole world of difference between acknowledging abuse and glamorizing it. Joker is a notorious liar and Harley Quinn is delusional. Recall that in Batman: Harley Quinn when he waxes poetic about how much he cares for her before he bursts up laughing like he was reciting a line from a soap. That's Joker. He isn't exactly shy about expressing himself so I don't buy this BS that he 'loves' her in his own way. That makes as much sense as saying that the moon is made out of cheese. Joker kisses Harley with his fist for the same reason that Bill got some from Monica, because he can and not because it's his unconventional way of expressing 'love'. Harley puts up with Joker kicking her ass because she tolerates it, not because she went to a NOW seminar. She puts up with it to please him. It's that simple. _

_Say what you want about my POV. I make no apologies. I may be a Harley Quinn fan but I am not an apologist. Take what you want from this P/S. You can ignore it, wipe your ass with it or whatever. If you disagree with me, that's fine. _

_Yours truly, J._


End file.
